Rustle, bustle, muscle. “Got to push through all this undergrowth.” Bartholomew winces over the sharp rocks, as prickles and thorns hit him in the legs. “Got to find more smelly things.” Getting hungry now, he bustles and scuffles his way through the long-grassed paddock. Another prick on his legs makes him yelp and dance just as he picks up the scent of something moving up ahead, someone to eat. “Yep, that smells great!” A caterpillar, maybe a mantis, anything, as he yelps

“Woger Woger. Or is it Weganold? – We had got to stop meeting like this.” “Well, maybe you can lend me your ears.” “Ears, I’ve got a whole bag full of ears.” “How about a Bwyan, do we have a Bwyan?” “Nope only Casscisuses, Juliuses and July’s a few Maximuses, a small Minus, and a Biggest Dickess.” “That’ll never do – we need a Woger.” “How about an Over n’Out, he’s a foreigner, but surely he’ll do?” “Nope we can’t have agreement to the Senate if we don’t have a Roger. All in

The view moves and sways. Trying to capture a feel, a view, a mood. Nothing coming, just staring. Staring at his fingers. The gnarled scars of decades. Cuts, scrapes, scares; all time imprints. That blade cut just above the thumb, leaving a white scar, a semicircle in the demi-layer. The rain and wind beat at his face, darkness all around. Torch under the chin trying to see the broken wire. Production was down. $1000s per minute, slipping away. Every minute co

CRASH – shattering glass. “Yahooooo” with gleeful laughter – from the street. Is this a dream? Rushing to the bedroom door, smelling smoke. I open and stumble into the hallway of smoke billowing up the high ceiling, the walls are a low orange glow. To my left, there is fire under the back door. It licks at the floor gap, five fingers of flame trying to grab a hold. “Water – Fuck – Water”. I rush to the bathroom, upend the bin and jam it under the bath taps. Half full, I